


The End of Act Three

by triedunture



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Acting, Embarrassment, Kissing, M/M, Mutually Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hoechlin is surprised when Dylan shows him the new script. Apparently, Sterek is going to become canon. Which would be fine. If Tyler wasn't hiding his huge crush on Dylan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of Act Three

"I don't understand," Tyler said as he flipped through the new script. "I thought we already had the final." Jeff and the other writers very rarely went in for last-minute rewrites. 

Dylan gave a full-bodied shrug and gestured at the paper in Tyler's hands. "Well, check out the new pages for the end of Act III." 

The end of Act III: the big escape scene where Stiles and Derek and Lydia fight their way out of the underground lab. Hoechlin had been looking forward to it. Lots of stunt work. Plus scenes with Dylan were always fun. Difficult, but fun. 

His eyes skimmed the words, seeing nothing different from the last version of the script he'd read. He opened his mouth to say so when a few new lines of text jumped out at him from the bottom of the page. 

**DEREK and LYDIA turn the corner and see STILES slumped against the wall.**

**DEREK**  
 **I told you not to take any stupid risks!**

**He grabs STILES by the arm to help him up.**

**STILES**  
 **(bloodied, smiling weakly)**  
 **It worked, though. You're welcome.**

**DEREK**  
 **You're impossible.**

That was all the same, exactly as they'd done at their table read, except for the next part. Instead of a glowering stand-off, there was this:

**DEREK kisses STILES. Both LYDIA and STILES react with surprise. We can tell it's a first kiss.**

**LYDIA**  
 **Hello! We need to get out of here.**

**STILES**  
 **(to DEREK)**  
 **We're going to set aside some time to discuss that later.**

**DEREK**  
 **Later.**

Hoechlin flipped back and forth between the two pages that covered this new exchange, reading it four or five times before it finally sank in. They were really going to do it. They were really going to own this Sterek phenomenon. Jeff had dabbled with it in the past, but this was seriously swimming-in-the-deep-end, no going back kind of stuff. Hoechlin swung his gaze up to Dylan, who seemed to be holding back a growing grin.

"What do you think?" Tyler asked neutrally. Dylan had always been ambivalent about this possibility in the past, saying he understood the appeal but didn't get it character-wise. And Hoechlin had followed his lead, taking all the fan reactions in stride, only joking about it when Dylan did and keeping his big mouth shut the rest of the time. 

Dylan beamed and shrugged. "I don't know. What do _you_ think?"

Hoechlin glanced around their isolated corner of the set. The crew was in a whirl, setting up the next scene. Jeff was nowhere to be found. "I think it's a little weird, don't you? I mean, I thought Jeff would sit us down and have some long, meaningful conversation about character direction before springing this on us."

"He wanted to keep this on the down-low." Dylan's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Only you and me have a copy of the new script. They want Holland's reaction to be authentic. And we really don't want to break the internet before the scene is even shot." He sighed. "He asked me to bring it up to you because if you're not comfortable with it, that's fine. We'll just do the original scene. It's your decision."

" _My_ decision?" This was crazy. All those times he'd imagined kissing Dylan, and the only real chance he got was on camera? Tyler had been doing so well, keeping things friendly, not crossing any lines, making sure to send Dylan home when it got late. There was no way he was going to lose a friend like Dylan over a stupid crush. So that answered that, right? They shouldn't do the scene. It would be taking advantage. 

On the other hand, how many times had he agreed with Colton or Holland about the need for more LGBT characters on TV? He'd be a huge hypocrite if he turned down this scene. Sure, for some fans it would just be a cheap thrill, but there would be kids out there who—who might see something of themselves in Derek. Maybe this was a challenge he shouldn't shy away from. 

"Heck?" Dylan waved a hand in front of his face. "You in there?"

He shook his head to clear it. Spacing out was not an option. "Sorry, I, um." He swallowed. Kept his eyes on the script. "So I guess we'll need to do this in one take, won't we?"

He looked up just in time to see Dylan's eyebrows dance. "Seriously? You're in?" 

"Yeah." Hoechlin licked his lips. "If you are."

"Oh. Uh, sure. Okay." Dylan blinked and fiddled with the water bottle in his hands. 

Tyler frowned. "Are you sure?" He just seemed so surprised.

"I mean, yes, I'm in. In like Flynn." Dylan nodded vigorously, then cleared his throat. "Do you want to run through the new lines after I'm done with this scene?" He gestured toward the set. 

Hoechlin refrained from pointing out that very little of the actual lines had changed. "The script says it's supposed to look like a first kiss," he said. Although the prospect of kissing Dylan over and over again sounded great, it also made his stomach churn with nerves. He'd rather use that on set then fumble his way through a few dozen tries. 

Impossibly, Dylan's eyes got wider. "You sure? You're just gonna come at me with all that snarly Derek passion in one go?" He mimed a sort of pounce with his hands.

"Well. I don't—" Hoechlin paused. "I think Derek would be gentle."

"Huh?" 

"Stiles is human, possibly injured," he said, gaze firmly on the floor. "Even if it was a spur of the moment thing, I think Derek would be careful with him. And I think he would...soften the longer the kiss went on, just to be safe. Plus I think after everything—you know, in his past—he'd be a little scared. Scared of doing something wrong." He felt his face heat as he glanced up at Dylan, who was gaping at him.

"Thought about this a lot, haven't you?" 

"It's hard not to when it's all anyone asks you in interviews," Hoechlin groused.

Dylan bit his lip. "And you're _sure_ you don't want to run through it? Just once?"

Sometimes Hoechlin couldn't tell when Dylan was being serious or not. This was one of those times. His mouth was curled into that joker's grin but his eyes were a little too round, a little too earnest. 

He erred on the side of caution. "Be careful with your next stunt," he said with a tip of his chin toward the set. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"But—"

"Don't worry, I'll keep a lid on the whole thing." 

Dylan looked like he was going to protest once more, but a P.A. came to whisk him away to his mark. Hoechlin gave him a tiny wave goodbye and watched him go. 

Well. It was a good day to spend in the cramped on-set gym, trying his best to keep his mind off Dylan and this kiss.

It wasn't that Tyler tried to avoid Dylan for the next twenty-four hours but— Yeah, okay, so he was avoiding Dylan. It just felt weird to be carrying around a secret that only Dylan knew. He worried if he saw him on the busy lot or the canteen, he might blurt out something about the kiss. It was the only thing on his mind, playing on his mental reel over and over. 

He couldn't overthink it, he kept telling himself. It was supposed to look spontaneous. He just had to tap into those instincts that made him want to kiss Dylan, the same instincts that would make Derek want to kiss Stiles. He'd just let that need take over. 

God, it was nerve-wracking. The usual hurry-up-and-wait on the set the next day just made it worse. He had to pretend he was as cool as a cucumber, laughing while in Makeup, joking around with Posey between their trailers, silently freaking out over the fact he would be kissing Dylan in a few hours. 

And then it was time. All the rest of the day's shots were done, and all that was left was the hallway scene at the end of Act III. Walking onto the set, Hoechlin felt like he was hallucinating. He looked into the faces of the crew, of Holland, of Jeff sitting in his creaky chair in the far corner, feverishly writing something in a notebook, and none of them seemed aware of what was about to happen. It was surreal. Then he caught Dylan's eye as he loped in from his trailer. He received a knowing glance and a private nod, before the director called for quiet and places.

"You can still back out," Dylan whispered as he brushed past to reach his mark. 

"I'm good," Hoechlin said in a quiet, firm voice. He caught Dylan's eye, which was darting along pretty quickly. It wasn't just the tacky fake blood and the makeup; he really did look scared. The sheen of sweat dotting his brow was real. "Hey, you okay?" 

"I—yeah." Dylan gave a bobbing nod as an A.D. led him to his place against the wall. One last call for quiet, and then the cameras were rolling. Tyler watched Dylan lean back and close his eyes as the steam effects started pumping. He tried to imagine what Derek would see when he turned the corner for the first time: Stiles slumped there, covered in blood, breathing weakly. He thought about what it might be like to lose someone like that, someone you were just starting to trust. He tried not to think about losing Dylan. But that was impossible. 

He stalked forward the second the director called for action. He could hear Holland's heels clicking right behind him, but he didn't turn to help her over the debris that littered the hallway like he had in rehearsal. He sank to his knees right on the mark by Dylan's side. Derek would be worried about injuries, so he was careful when he cupped Dylan's face between his palms. Dylan's hands came up to pat his, somewhere between reassuring and get-the-hell-off-me; god, his instincts were always so dead-on. Hoechlin felt a swelling of pride mixed with fondness in his chest. Good, use that, he told himself.

"I told you not to take any stupid risks," he rumbled in Derek's deep growl. Between the two of them, Dylan clambered to his feet in his rubbery way. Tyler's hand slid to the back of Dylan's grown-out hair, and Dylan sagged back into the wall again. That was great; it would look like Derek was protecting him from hitting his head. 

"That's weird," Dylan slurred from his bloodied lips. "That didn't _sound_ like a thank-you."

Fucking Dylan and his improv. Well, two could play. "You're such a—" He bit off the epithet with a snarl and surged forward to press their mouths together.

His eyes slipped closed. He could feel Dylan flailing against him for a second, then, slowly and with a small gasp, relaxing against his body. Hoechlin gentled his hold on the back of Dylan's head, bringing his other hand up to caress where his neck met his shoulder. He felt Dylan's hands fisting in his tee shirt and hanging there, still and silent. Just as he'd said it would, the kiss became careful, something sweet and tender, their mouths finding a better angle together, damp with sweat and sweet fake blood. The soft point of Dylan's tongue touched the corner of his lips, and Tyler was wondering just how long this kiss could last when Holland finally screeched her line, causing them to break apart. 

"Hello! We need to get out of here." 

Hoechlin stared down at Dylan, hoping he didn't look as glazed as he felt. Dylan's mouth was pink and wet. It opened and closed a few times before he managed to croak, "We're gonna have to discuss that later."

"Later," Hoechlin promised, and grabbed both Dylan's arm and Holland's wrist to guide them swiftly toward the end of the hallway. 

He didn't stop running until the director called cut. Holland was the first to round on them. 

"What the _hell_ was that?" she said, already plodding back to her starting mark. "Is this going to be one of those days where you two just goof off in every single take?"

A couple crew members worked on resetting the steam effects machine, laughing all the way. "That's gonna make the gag reel for sure," one of them said. 

"It's okay," Hoechlin said to Holland with a calming smile. "There was a new script."

"What new script?" Holland asked.

He bounced on the balls of his feet, still hyper from the kiss and feeling great now that it was done and in the bag. "Jeff wanted to keep it a secret. I think we got it in one, don't you?" He turned to Dylan, who was staring resolutely at the toes of his shoes. 

"Okay, so seriously, what are you talking about?" the director called from his chair. 

Wait. Even the director hadn't known? Geez, talk about paranoid. "Jeff, tell them how—" He turned and saw Jeff sitting there in his little corner, his mouth hanging open. 

"Tyler, I didn't...write...that," he said slowly. 

Hoechlin laughed. "What do you mean? Of course you...." he trailed off, staring at Dylan's beet red face. His gut dropped. "Dylan?"

"I'm sorry," Dylan mumbled. He picked his eyes up from the floor and stared at Hoechlin with a raw, pained look. "I— It was supposed to be a joke." 

It was like the world had been paused. Tyler could feel the eyes of the whole crew on him, but he couldn't look at them, couldn't listen to what they were whispering. The adrenaline that had been pumping through his system curdled to ice. He'd put his heart and soul into that scene, that kiss. And it had all been some big joke. 

His face fell into a kind of blankness that he normally reserved for his character. He nodded once, twice. "Okay," he said, and turned to walk straight to his trailer. He didn't stop when he heard Dylan call after him. If he turned around now, he was going to say or do something he would regret.

That air-cushion thing made slamming his trailer door impossible, but it didn't stop him from trying. He sighed and flopped onto the narrow bench-style couch that served as his napping spot when he had a free half-hour. One deep breath: he would not cry. Two deep breaths: he would not break anything. Three deep breaths: he would just live in this trailer for the rest of his life so he wouldn't have to face the entire cast and crew ever again, the end. 

Had they seen how much he'd wanted it, when he'd finally kissed Dylan? Had all his eagerness and pathetic yearning seeped through? He covered his hot face with his hands and groaned. Fuck everything, why did Dylan have to be such a dickhead? Did all hilarious and talented people with magnetic personalities turn out to be dickheads? 

A small tap came at the door. "Can I come in?" Dylan's voice called, muffled through the metal.

"No," Hoechlin yelled back, moving his palms up to press against his aching eyes.

The door creaked open an inch, letting in a tiny sliver of sunlight. "You didn't lock it. Does that mean I can come in?"

"No." 

"If I come in anyway, will you kill me?"

A pause. "Maybe."

"I'll take that chance." Dylan shuffled inside and closed the door behind him, leaning back against it. He was so quiet, so different from the hundreds of times he'd visited Tyler in his trailer just to shoot the shit or run lines or play video games. He still had the fake blood smeared down his face. He looked like hell. "Look, man, I just— I'm sorry," he said.

"I heard you the first time," Tyler sighed, rubbing his hands down his tired face one last time before flopping his arms above his head, staring pointedly at the ceiling and not Dylan.

Dylan kept talking. "It was a dumb idea and I didn't mean for it to go so far. It was a stupid prank, just to see if you would—" He gave a bitter laugh and wrapped his—Stiles'—hoodie tighter around his spare frame. "God, it's always freezing in here."

Tyler sat up, his eyes sharp. "Just to see if I would what?" he said coldly. 

"Just to see if you would ever," Dylan shrugged, helpless, "be okay with kissing on-screen."

He glowered in response. "Why wouldn't I? I've had plenty of kisses on-screen."

"Not with me," Dylan said quietly. He let the door creak with his full weight and slid down to the floor, his long legs folded to his chest to fit. "I know sometimes we joke around about it but— Jesus, Heck, when you started talking about how Derek would be gentle, and how you wanted it to be a real first kiss, I—" He dropped his gaze to his lap, where his fingers fiddled with his hood's strings. "I was a douchebag. And I'm sorry. And now you won't _speak_ to me, let alone—"

"Wait." Tyler slid off the sofa and crouched on the floor in front of him, trying to catch his wandering gaze. "What are you saying? That you wanted me to kiss you?" 

"Oh my god, can we just forget this ever happened?" Dylan moaned, burying his face in his hands. Then, muffled: "I will wash your car every week. I will buy all your muscle milk. Whatever it takes to make us even, I will do it." 

Tyler reached for his hands and pried them away from Dylan's face, surprised to find his eyes red and wet. "Dylan," he said, voice soft and small, "did you want me to kiss you?"

Dylan's mouth crinkled into that shape that meant he was both confused and disbelieving. "Have you met you?" he said. "Of course I did." 

"Did?" Tyler didn't let go of his hands, all folded together between them. He let the smallest smile lift one corner of his lips. 

Dylan's pupils grew till only a slim gold ring was left in each eye. "Will you be angry with me," he breathed, "if I said I still do?"

This kiss was not gentle. Their noses knocked when Tyler leaned in too quickly, and Dylan's squawk of surprise was broken off when their teeth clacked together. But Tyler was undeterred. He practically climbed into Dylan's lap, he was so desperate to get closer. He could barely believe it; two and a half years of idiotic pining, wasted. He wasn't wasting another moment. 

It took a couple of seconds, but Dylan caught on eventually, bringing his hands up to grip at Tyler's shoulders, his bitten fingernails scraping through his tee. He kissed back just as fiercely, fighting against Tyler's teeth and tongue. 

"You never said anything, you asshole," Dylan laughed into the curve of his neck when they broke for air. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Why didn't you?" Tyler shot back. His fingers couldn't stop carding through Dylan's hair. 

"Because." Dylan nipped at his lower lip, setting off a chase for bites that lasted the good part of a minute. Finally Dylan relented to another of Tyler's kisses, collapsing back against the door again. "Because I thought the odds of you being on-board were really, really, uh, bad." He craned his head to the side to allow Tyler a lick of his neck. "But this is not bad. This is very good."

"Good. I'm glad." One last bite to his unreal neck, careful to leave no marks. "Think all that footage is a wash?"

Dylan hummed in thought. "Jeff was going back and forth about it. He said he'd have to watch the rushes. Something about not looking a gift horse in the mouth?"

"Oh no," Tyler deadpanned. "We'll probably have some more makeout scenes."

"Oh no," Dylan echoed, kissing Tyler on his prickly chin. 

"Am I crushing you?" Tyler looked down at the narrow space they were occupying on the floor between the door and the couch. 

"Yeah, but I probably deserve it for tricking you into kissing me." Dylan smiled. "Kiss me again before Holland comes to see if you murdered me."

Holland didn't knock on the door for another sixteen minutes. Tyler made them last.

**Author's Note:**

> RPF/RPS still terrifies me. I wrote this because I couldn't get it out of my head, and I feel kind of bad about it? Thanks to beta Molton Moon for assuring me I wouldn't go directly to hell (for this).
> 
> Disclaimer! Of course this is not real. I mean, really. This is all in my head, which, let's face it, is a sick place. SORRY REAL PEOPLE.


End file.
